


Making Friends and Forming Alliances

by Englishtutor



Series: The Other Doctor Watson [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bank Robbery, Gen, Girl's Night Out, a 'safe' place to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englishtutor/pseuds/Englishtutor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary and Molly are quickly becoming the best of friends.  Mary and Sally are . . .  not.  Can they all work together in spite of their differences?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Girl's Night Out

She ought to have known that a ‘girl’s night out’ with Mary would not be relaxing and uneventful. Molly pondered this fact as she lay face-down on the cold linoleum of the bank’s lobby floor with her hands behind her head.

However, it was not really Mary’s fault (was it?) that the bank they were in happened to be the target of a pair of desperate, armed robbers in masks. It was surely just a coincidence that these things happened when Mary was around. 

“They just want money. They’ll leave quickly once they have it,” Mary whispered reassuringly, maddeningly unperturbed. One of the robbers was collecting handbags and wallets into a laundry sack while the other cleaned out the tills into a pillowcase. Molly handed hers over willingly, not looking up, just wanting it to be over. The gunman had already fired a shot over their heads when one of the victims shifted a bit. She was not taking any chances. She thought about the sequence of events that had brought her here.

If she had not autopsied that body for Sherlock, (not her fault—what choice did she have?) she would not have found that key while cataloguing the stomach contents. If Sherlock had not examined the key (after it was thoroughly cleaned!) he would not have determined that it was for a safety deposit box in this bank. If Sherlock (perhaps this was Sherlock’s fault. . .) had not called Lestrade, (or perhaps it was Greg’s!) Sgt Donovan would not have been sent to pick up the key and take it to the bank. That was when the oh-so-helpful John (John! Yes, this was all John’s fault, wasn’t it?) suggested that, since Molly and Mary had to pass the bank anyway on their way to the cinema, they could meet Sally there and witness the opening of the box for Sherlock. It should have only taken a few minutes, and they should have gone on their merry way to see a film. 

The contents of the box were fascinating and suggestive. Mary had taken pictures of each item with her phone and sent them to Sherlock. Then the girls had left Sally in the secure room to officially catalogue each item for her report. But as they re-entered the lobby, their plans changed in an instant.

“Get down on the floor,” the man in the mask had demanded, waving his firearm at them. Already lined up on the linoleum were perhaps a dozen men and women and a couple of children, prone with their hands on their heads. Some of them were quietly crying. One was praying in a soft cadence. 

For a horrible minute, Molly had thought Mary was going to protest. “Get on the floor!” the second man had cried, his voice rising to a hysterical pitch. The girls got on the floor. 

“It’s best not to provoke them when they’re nervous,” Mary had murmured as if trying to excuse her cooperative behaviour. “They could shoot someone by mistake.”

“Shut that noise!” the nervous gunman had yelled. Molly bit her lips. She had no wish to provoke anyone at all for any reason.

The sounds of sirens and squealing tires filled Molly with relief; but the feeling didn’t last long. Mary sighed under breath, sounding annoyed. “Oh, bollocks.”

Mary rarely cursed. “What?” Molly breathed, hardly daring to ask.

“These chaps were just after the money. They aren’t killers. Up until now, we were just an inconvenience to them. They would have taken their loot and left. But now that they’ve been surrounded, suddenly we’re valuable commodities.”

Molly’s heart thudded in her chest. Mary was right. They were no longer simple robbery victims; they were now hostages.

The two nervous men had no desire to try keeping tabs on a crowd of people and deal with the police at the same time. “Get up! Keep your hands where we can see them!” one of them shouted, his voice quavering a bit. No one in the room was more frightened than the criminals. Molly was aware that this fact made them extremely dangerous. “Get into the vault, all of you! Wait, not you!” The manager of the bank was separated from the rest of the crowd. Molly and Mary followed the rest of the herd into the bank vault. The door was shut upon them, and Molly was rather disappointed that it hadn’t made a ringing slam that echoed for moments afterwards. Instead, it closed silently and gently clicked into place. It just didn’t seem to fit the drama of the moment.

“Everyone stay calm,” Mary called to the milling group of frightened hostages. “We’re all safe in here. After all, it IS a safe.” A few chuckles helped to lift the suffocating cloud of fear that had fogged the victims’ minds. “The police are just outside. They’ll have things well in hand before you know it. Just have a seat and we’ll all soon be out of here and on our way home.” Her confident air of authority soothed them, and they all sat in an orderly fashion. A few still cried silently, but at least they were not out of control.

“Don’t worry,” Molly’s intrepid companion murmured in her ear. “We’ll get out of this. I have a thought.”

This statement from Mary alarmed Molly more than anything else that had happened to her that day.

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” she whispered desperately. Mary just grinned at her. It was the most frightening thing Molly had ever seen.

But before Mary could explain her idea, the vault door opened and Sally Donovan was shoved roughly inside. The detective sergeant collapsed on the floor as the door clicked shut behind her. Mary and Molly rushed to her side. The side of Sally’s head was slick with blood and her eyes looked bruised, but she was still conscious. 

“You have a phone, haven’t you?” Sally complained weakly. “You might have warned me the bank was being robbed.”

“We hadn’t time,” Mary explained. She and Molly gently pulled Sally away from the door and propped her against the wall. “You poor thing,” the young doctor said gently. She and Sally had certainly had their differences in the past, but Mary was not one to hold a grudge. “Here, let’s have a look.” Fortunately, the robbers had not taken the time to search everyone’s pockets. Although Mary’s bag had been taken, she had an amazing array of medical supplies stashed in her coat. She quickly examined the injured woman, looking into her eyes, taking her pulse, and deftly cleaning the blood away and bandaging the wound. Molly watched admiringly. Sometimes she forgot that her friend was a skilled physician and not just a reckless adventuress.

Sally explained that she had been in the back room with the safety deposit box and therefore had not heard a thing until one of the gunmen had burst into the room searching for anyone who might pose a threat. Sally had not gone quietly. Molly was impressed. For all her faults, the sergeant was certainly not a coward.

“You have a concussion and, I believe, a cracked skull,” Mary informed Sally. “I need you to stay awake, but you must stay quite still, all right? The fracture is simple and linear, so it should heal nicely and you’ll never know the difference. But you don’t want to risk falling and possibly causing complications.” She gave the sergeant a pain reliever and stood up. “Now, for that idea I was having.”

She was interrupted by a signal from her phone. Molly was amazed. 

“How can you have phone service in here?” she wondered.

Mary shrugged. “Mycroft had his people do something to it after I was kidnapped that time. It works everywhere; I don’t know why.” She looked at the text she had just received, and for the first time during this entire ordeal, she looked genuinely worried. “Oh, this is not good,” she muttered to herself.

Molly thought that if Mary was worried, then something quite terrifying must be happening. Her stomach clenched with fear. “What is it?” she whispered nervously.

“It’s John,” Mary said, her voice full of concern. Now Molly knew something was dreadfully wrong. Mary never called her husband ‘John’ unless she was very upset.

“Is he all right?” Molly was almost afraid to ask.

“He’s found out about the bank robbery. He wants to know if we left before it began.” Mary bit her lip, pondering. “He’s worried.”

Molly and Sally waited for the punch line. It was several seconds before they realized that Mary had, in fact, already stated the problem that was disquieting her so very much. Obviously, all other concerns had paled in her mind; only John mattered, and nothing else.

“That’s it? That’s what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Sally was incredulous. “Oh, God forbid, John Watson should feel worried.”

Mary sighed. “I don’t want him to be upset,” she said simply. “Last time I was kidnapped, he was mad with worry. I don’t want to do that to him again. What on earth can I tell him?”

“Tell him we were well away from the bank before the robbers arrived,” Molly suggested, but Mary shook her head.

“I can’t lie to him. I’ve never lied to him.” The young doctor frowned, thinking. “Ah, I have it. I’ll tell him we’re in a ‘safe’ place and he mustn’t be such a worrier. He’ll figure it out fairly quickly, but by then we’ll be out of here.” She punched keys on her phone, sending the text.

“I admire your dedication to your spouse, Watson,” Sally said, a bit sarcastically, “But, honestly, we have bigger things to concern us now than whether or not your precious husband gets upset.”

Molly thought of a body on a slab with a neat little bullet hole precisely between its eyes and disagreed. “As a law enforcement officer, I should think you would be very concerned whenever John Watson gets upset.”

She watched Sally consider that thought. They heard no more about the matter from her.

Mary apparently received a satisfying answer to her slightly deceptive text. “There, now to my idea,” she declared, cheering up. “Sally, I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, but actually, it plays right into my plan.”

Molly objected. “Why must we have a plan? Let’s just sit here quietly let the police rescue us. Isn’t that what you told everyone else?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear,” fearless Mary whispered. “We can’t just sit here and wait for them to start bringing us out one by one and shooting us. You know how this works. The police won’t give in to their demands, so they’ll have to make a show of force. Look at all these helpless people. We have a responsibility to them.”

Molly did not know why she and Mary had to be the responsible ones in a group of so many people. But no one else in the vault seemed the least bit inclined, or indeed capable, of doing anything useful at the moment. They were all quietly panicking and Molly was just glad no one was hysterical.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Mary began, and her plan was soon set into motion.

Mary once more imperiously addressed the crowd. “I need everyone to move as far back from the door as possible, and I need someone who works here to give me the telephone number to the front desk.” A timid young woman raised her hand. Mary walked over to her and crouched down in front of her, smiling reassuringly. “Don’t worry, dear, you don’t have to do a thing except tell me the number.” She entered the number the young women related into her phone and walked away from the huddled group and pressed send. She put her mobile on speaker phone so that Molly and Sally could also hear.

“It’s about time you got back to me!” a man’s voice yelled into the phone.

“I’m not the police,” Mary stated calmly. “I’m one of your hostages in the vault, and I also happen to be a doctor. You have a real problem you need to deal with here. That woman you chaps pistol-whipped had a fractured skull. I know you took her wallet and badge, so you are aware that she’s Scotland Yard. Of all the folks in this vault, she is the one you least want to have harmed. You know the Yard will look after its own.”

It was the first blatant lie that Molly had ever heard Mary tell. Molly was well aware that the one person the robbers should want to avoid harming was Mary Watson herself.

“Is she going to die?” the man’s voice quavered. The man was on edge and ready to crack.

“She needs a hospital and she needs it now,” Mary said firmly. “I can only do so much, locked up in here. But don’t worry: I have an idea.”

Molly giggled a bit hysterically at that. “Be afraid. Be very afraid,” she whispered to the bank robbers. “Mary has a plan.”

“You take her out of here and send her out to the police so they can get her the medical help she needs. That will be a gesture of good will on your part, and they may be more willing to make concessions for you. At least, it’s worth a try,” Mary explained.

There was silence as the two men thought this proposal over. “All right, it’s worth a try,” the voice said at last. The line went dead.

Mary grinned at her companions. “Get ready! You know what to do!” she encouraged them. She and Molly positioned themselves on either side of Sally, who now held Mary’s shiny, new Italian stiletto switchblade in one hand, shielding it from view behind her other arm. She was weak and in pain, but she was a seasoned officer. She would do her part.

The door to the vault opened and one of the robbers appeared, his firearm moving from target to target as he faced the safe-full of victims. “Let me see for myself,” he declared nervously, moving towards Sally and trying to keep an eye on everyone else at the same time. Molly was pleased to see that he had left the door open a crack. 

The robber stood in front of Sally and then leaned over slightly to get a better look at her head. At Mary’s signal, the three women moved simultaneously: Mary grabbed the man’s gun-hand and wrenched it upwards; Molly grasped his other arm and twisted it behind his back; and Sally revealed the knife, which she held up until the point touched his throat.

“Don’t move,” Mary warned him sternly. “Drop the weapon.” The gunman did not comply, so Molly pushed his slightly forward. The knife-tip drew blood. “You’re over-balanced. Molly has only to give you a good shove, and you’ll fall right onto that knife,” Mary informed him. “Sally may be hurt, but she can hold that knife steady. Drop the gun.” He let his hand droop, and she took the gun from it easily. Holding it to his back, she fished her handcuffs out of one of her capacious pockets and handed them to Molly, who cuffed the man as swiftly as she could.

“Sit,” Mary ordered, and he did as he was told. “Where is the manager? And is there anyone else out there with your chum?”

“No, ma’am. There’s just the manager, and he’s tied to a chair at one of the desks in the lobby,” the man said earnestly.

Mary attempted to look stern. “I am a doctor. I know how to cause excruciating pain and still keep you alive. If you’re lying to me. . . .”

Molly hid her mouth with one hand to hide her silent laughter. Her friend looked about as menacing as a week-old kitten. But the robber apparently believed in this kitten’s claws and looked appropriately frightened. “I’m not lying, I swear!” He declared.

“Okay, then, on to phase two,” Mary nodded. “You two hold him here. Are you doing okay, Sally?”

Sally started to nod, changed her mind, and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Do it.” She handed the knife over to Molly to hold and let her head fall back against the wall, exhausted.

Mary made another call on her mobile. “Hi, Greg. Guess where I am!” she exclaimed when Lestrade answered.

“I hate to think,” he said dryly. 

“I’m in the bank vault with Molly and Sally and the other hostages,” Mary informed him. “We have subdued one of the robbers, and I’m about to check out the other one. He’s got the bank manager with him, so I need to lure him away so you can burst in and arrest him with endangering anyone. I’ll keep my phone on so you can hear what’s happening and can come in at the right time.”

Lestrade was beside himself. “Mary, I forbid you to do this. Stay in the vault and we’ll take care of the rest. I mean it, Mary.”

“Be reasonable, Greg. If you crash in here while the gunman is still with his hostage, he’ll kill the man, even if just by accident. I’ll be fine. I have a gun and I know how to use it if I have to. I’ll let you know when the manager is safe and you can come in.”

Molly could hear Lestrade’s long-suffering sigh. “Mary, I swear. . . . you’ll be the death of me. Literally. If John finds out I let you do this . . . .”

Mary chuckled. “I won’t let him hurt you,” she assured him. “Don’t worry so much. Just get ready.” She turned to her captive and said, “I’m going to sneak out of here now. In two minutes, you call your friend just as loudly as you can. If you don’t, Molly here will gladly carve you up to her heart’s content.” She turned to Molly. “If he moves, stab him until he stops,” she advised. Molly nodded, knowing full well that such drastic measures would be unnecessary.

She watched Mary slip out of the vault, leaving the door open, and disappear. When two minutes had passed, she nudged her prisoner. “Call him,” she ordered. He did.

Moments later, the sound of the lobby door crashing in reached the crowd in the vault and two gunshots rang out. And then controlled chaos ensued, with the bank thronging with police and medical personnel. A pair of officers escorted the hostages out of the vault and into a conference room to be checked out and their statements taken. Some other officers took the captive bank robber into custody. An ambulance crew appeared and put Sally onto a stretcher.

Sally looked up at Molly as they carried her towards the door. “Good work,” she commended with a faint smile. “Tell Mary I said so.”

Molly wandered out of the vault after the Sally, looking for Mary. Those two gunshots worried her. She craned her neck to look over the heads of the milling crowd in the lobby. There was Lestrade, untying the bank manager, looking grim. There were more medical personnel treating the injured second robber. There were . . . oh, dear! There were John and Sherlock, also threading their way through the lobby, looking anxiously around. Molly rushed to meet them.

“Molly, are you okay? Where’s Mary?” John said, his voice deep with concern.

“I’m fine. Mary was wonderful! She’s . . . she’s around here somewhere.” Molly looked around again. Surely if something had happened to Mary, Lestrade would be with her and not with that pallid-looking manager. Sherlock impatiently pushed through the lobby to speak with the detective inspector.

“Mary!” John shouted, not willing to wait another second. “Mary! Where are you?”

“Captain!” Mary’s voice carried across the lobby. She shoved her way through the chaos and threw herself into his arms. “Where did you come from?”

He shook his head indulgently. “Just who did you think you were fooling with that text? ‘Safe place’. Naturally, we came at once.”

Mary looked contrite. “I just didn’t like you to worry.” He quickly kissed away her concern.

“It’s my job to worry about you,” he reminded her gently.

“You’re very good at it,” she murmured into his shoulder.

“I’ve had far too much practice, haven’t I?” he returned. He looked at Molly. “We saw Donovan. Quite a crack on the head. But you weren’t hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Molly assured him again, just as Sherlock and Lestrade joined them.

“Lestrade has been telling me about how you ladies captured the crooks single-handed,” he commended them. “Very resourceful.”

“It was a team effort. Molly and Sally and I pulled it off together,” Mary said cheerfully. “It’s all over now, though. Molly, do you still want to see a film? We can just make it if we leave now.”

Molly nodded. “Yes, let’s. How often do we get a chance for a girl’s night out? We oughtn’t to waste it just because of a . . . little delay.”

Off they went, arm in arm, leaving the men in their lives to look after them.

“Hmm,” Lestrade mused. “Guess that puts us in our places, doesn’t it?” He wandered off, back to work.

Sherlock looked John, who seemed a bit bereft. “Dinner?”

John shrugged, smiling. “Boy’s night out,” he said.


	2. Benefit Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Mary Watson through Sally Donovan's eyes.

She stood by the punch bowl in the spacious, rented ballroom and frowned. Stuck working the refreshment table because of her recent injury, Sally Donovan felt cross and left out of the festivities. Which was odd because, every other year, she detested this fund-raising event and resented having to attend. New Scotland Yard, in order to prove its community spirit and fundamental concern for society, held this benefit event every year to raise money for a local rehabilitation centre. Sally had nothing against drug and alcohol rehabilitation, of course, but why should one be forced to dance for it?

She ought to have been grateful, oddly enough, that her cracked skull and concussion had prevented her having to help organize the tedious last-minute details of the benefit. But to add insult to injury, quite literally, her usual role in planning this event had been taken over this year by that insufferable Mary Watson. Sally knew her resentment of Mary was irrational; but she couldn’t help feeling that the bank robbery that had taken place while she, Molly and Mary just happened to be inside it was somehow Mary Watson’s fault.

Now she watched the Boss, dancing with Mary, and seethed. Lestrade was enamoured of that chit of a girl, who knew why, and let her get away with murder. She was allowed free access to crime scenes; she received special treatment when she managed to get herself into scrapes; blind eyes were turned towards questionable actions on the part of her husband and Holmes when she was endangered. Sally felt the Boss had been compromised by his affection for the trio, and Mary in particular.

John Watson appeared at Sally’s side and took a glass of punch, smiling at her in a friendly manner. She had always found him to be more amiable than his partner in crime; but since Sally, in spite of her injury, had helped Mary and Molly defeat the bank robbers, he had become even warmer in his manner towards her. She had often felt a sneaking admiration for Watson, in spite of his incomprehensible and questionable attachment to Sherlock Holmes. He was unfailingly polite and gentle in his manner, but when the need arose, he was easily the most dangerous man she’d ever known. She smiled tentatively back.

“Having fun?” he asked mildly. She shook her head. 

“I hate these things,” she admitted freely. “All these stuffed shirts, pretending to get along.” He snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, I’m not much for this sort of thing myself,” he replied amiably. “I’m just here because my wife made me come.” He pulled good-naturedly at his collar and tugged on his jacket, chuckling. She knew this was not true. Although the then newly-wed Watsons had skipped this event last year, Watson himself had faithfully attended the three years previously, stoic and grim-faced as if marching into battle. He had always brought a date with him, and had always left alone. How things had changed since Mary came into his life. Into ALL their lives. . . .

Sally watched the woman in question; Mary was tripping over the Boss’s feet as they danced and they were laughing hysterically together. She had to be the klutziest person on the ballroom floor. “Doesn’t that bother you?” she asked tactlessly.

John looked in the direction Sally was indicating and laughed affectionately. “What, that Mary can’t dance to save her soul? Nah, nobody’s perfect.”

Sally frowned. “No, I mean, the way she and the Boss get on.”

John gave Sally a level look and smiled grimly. “Mary grew up without a father in her life, you know. If she’s found someone to fill that empty space for her, I’m more than pleased.” Sally raised an eyebrow. Watson was a man of the world, wasn’t he? Ex-army, world-travelled, experienced surgeon. How could he be so naïve?

John moved away, talking to some of the other guests, and Sally turned her attention to her sometime lover. There was Anderson, dancing with his own wife, of all people, that drab. His eyes, however, were roaming over the room, finally alighting on Mary Watson. Sally could swear she saw a bit of drool drip from the corner of his mouth. Bloody prat!

The Boss had accused her of being jealous of the Watson woman; and perhaps she was. And why shouldn’t she be? What on God’s green earth did everyone in London see in this little bit of fluff that they should stumble all over themselves to do whatever she wanted? Who, for example, was her own definitely EX-lover leering at this very moment? Not Sally Donovan; not, god forbid, his mousy little wife. No, it was none other than the (for him) tantalizingly unattainable weapons-expert Mrs. Watson that he was obsessing over, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. Disgusting!

And who had done such a fantastic job of pulling this event together in a matter of weeks that she drew the admiration of the Commissioner himself? Not Sally, who had organized this benefit annually for the five years previous to this, without ever receiving any recognition whatsoever. No, Sally had been on sick leave, thanklessly recovering from the skull fracture she’d incurred during that bank robbery a month ago. It was the intolerably perfect volunteer event chairperson Mary Watson who had apparently performed a miracle in producing this unprecedentedly successful event.

And who had come up with the idea to capture the bank robbers, which Sally had admittedly gone along with? Because, damn it, it had been a good idea and Sally had been injured and could not do much more than lie on the floor and let herself be patched up by the annoyingly efficient Dr Mary Watson.

And who broke all the rules, collecting evidence by illegally breaking into a suspect’s home, and received not censure but a mischievous wink from the detective inspector? And whose kidnapper was inexplicitly declared dead by his own hand in the official report of the chief pathologist, in spite of the fact the man had a bullet wound in the exact centre of his forehead, inflicted by a gun of a different calibre than the one in his hand—a hand suspiciously free of powder burns? Who was allowed to walk freely into the New Scotland Yard building and commandeer an interrogation room whenever she damn-well felt like it? That maddening, infuriating, exasperating, irritating Mary Bloody Watson.

She noted Sherlock Holmes stalking into the room with Mrs. Hudson on his arm, exaggeratedly stiff and formal and undeniably elegant. What a farce this whole thing was, she scoffed to herself. The freak escorted his landlady to a chair and then—oh, damn!—headed for the refreshment table. 

“What are you doing here, Freak?” she snapped at him, aggrieved. “Did Ms. Watson threaten you or bribe you to come?” Even John, as proficient as he was at controlling the freak at a crime scene, had always been unable to coerce the psychopath into attending social functions; although, admittedly, perhaps the doctor had not really wanted to try.

The freak turned those weird, light-coloured eyes to hers solemnly. “I came because Mary asked me to. Nicely,” he intoned.

Sally scoffed. “Are you saying you’d cooperate with anyone who is nice to you?” she demanded.

“I am not saying anything of the sort,” Holmes replied with great dignity. “However, you’ll never know until you try, will you, how cooperative I can be when asked nicely?” He took a cup of punch and carried it to Mrs. Hudson, who smiled at him with inexplicable fondness.

“How are you feeling, Sally?” came a familiar voice at her elbow. She cringed. Why did Mary have to be so nice all the time? And now, Sally had to feel grateful to the little so-and-so for treating her injuries at the bank, and for stepping in to help with this fundraiser while she was on sick leave. 

“I’m fine,” she lied. Go away. Go away, she thought belligerently.

Mary peered at the detective sergeant’s eyes intently. “You should have a sit, dear. You’re a bit peaky. That headache is still in effect, isn’t it?”

Damn. Why did the woman have to be a doctor? And an astute one, at that? “I’m fine,” Sally said more firmly, stubborn.

“I’ll take over from you here. Go on and have a bit of a rest,” Mary said encouragingly. Sally gritted her teeth. It was very tempting to do as the meddling little tart suggested—her head really was aching. But Mary Watson had shown her up too often already—capturing the bank robbers and organizing this benefit. At least let it not be said that Mary Watson could serve up punch better than Sally Donovan. She desperately needed to change the subject.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” she asked, indicating the obviously straying John Watson as he waltzed with a lovely, strangely graceful Molly Hooper. The two glided effortlessly across the floor, drawing all eyes to themselves, easily the best dancers in the room and clearly enjoying themselves. Mary’s dimples deepened.

“Oh, aren’t they wonderful? I’m so glad they’re having fun,” she gushed happily. “I’m total rubbish at dancing. John’s trying to teach me, but I just can’t get the knack. It’s not much fun for him, stuck with a partner that seems bent on maiming him.” She smiled at Sally, ignoring the scepticism in her eyes. “Besides, this way I get to watch him instead of stepping on him. Isn’t he beautiful?”

Love is blind, Sally mused, not seeing what Mary saw at all; but she did not voice her thought. She was capable of tact when she chose to be. “You don’t feel jealous?” she asked tactlessly.

Mary laughed merrily. “Of course not. I know he adores me. And we trust each other entirely,” she stated confidently. Sally shook her head.

“And when you and the freak went off alone to Cornwall together—John was okay with that?” she persisted.

Mary chuckled, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “My husband knows full well I worship the ground he walks on,” she replied cheekily. Sally rolled her eyes. 

“The freak tells me that this weird power you have over him to make him behave is that you’re nice to him,” Sally said sarcastically. “Are you asking me to believe that your control over him is just . . . niceness?”

Mary sighed, still good-natured but clearly tired of the subject. “I don’t control Sherlock, or anyone,” she declared firmly. “But I find that people respond well to kindness. They are more inclined to cooperate with you if they feel you have their own best interests at heart. People know it when you really care about them.”

Sally considered this statement for a moment. She had always had to be extra tough, as one of the few women in a predominantly man’s world. Being nice just didn’t get you far in this job. It was true that Mary often got better results with kindness than Sally did with vitriol. On the other hand, Mary could be ruthless if she needed to be: Sally would never forget the look on that robber’s face when Mary advised Molly to stab him if he moved and to keep on stabbing him until he stopped! Perhaps one could be tough with the bad guys and gentle with one’s colleagues without losing their respect. Mary certainly seemed to have found that balance, with good results.

Mary giggled happily. “Watch this,” she said confidingly, nodding to John and Molly. They were dancing closer and closer to where Sherlock was waltzing grandly with Mrs. Hudson. Sally noticed that John winked cheerfully at his landlady just as they passed closely by each other; then expertly, they smoothly traded partners, much to the obvious surprise of Sherlock and Molly, who found themselves suddenly dancing alone together as John and Mrs. Hudson moved swiftly away, innocently smiling. Mary laughed joyously. “There!” she cried triumphantly. “Mission accomplished!” Sally watched the new couple, looking awkward but not displeased, and thought they looked well together.

“You know what we have in common?” Mary was saying softly. “John and Sherlock and me and Molly and Greg: we were quite alone in the world before we found each other. Our parents are all gone, and we have two siblings among the lot of us, both fairly useless in the caring department. Not a grandparent, not an aunt, uncle, or cousin. Everyone needs family. We can be that for each other. There are many ways of caring other than romantically, you know. We all need those other ways as much as we need romance.” 

 

Sally had thought that Mary had simply been born under a fortunate star—blessed with a pretty face, a quick and clever mind, and a talent for manipulating people. But there was Sherlock Holmes, also easy to look at, admittedly more than clever, and a genius at manipulation. But only a very few would bend over backwards to please the freak the way they did to please Mary Watson. Perhaps it did pay to be nice.

Perhaps it would be worth trying.


End file.
